


Transformers: Restart

by Twigwise



Category: Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: (originally a g1 AU but now it's more g1 inspired but not compliant per say), (sort of), Alternate Universe - Human, Gen, Other Additional Tags to Be Added
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-16
Updated: 2017-11-21
Packaged: 2019-02-03 03:00:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,310
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12739650
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Twigwise/pseuds/Twigwise
Summary: In the 1980s, humanity was rocked by the arrival of two factions of warring alien robots, the Autobots and the Decepticons. For five years, the two factions duked it out all over the planet before suddenly disappearing, leaving humanity alone once again. Fast forward to 2015, and High School Sophomore Sam Witwicky has a typical teenager's worth of worries on his plate, like not getting help on his homework from his dad, Spike Witwicky. And training for Track meets. And his coach that drives a big rig has glowing blue eyes that nobody else can see, that's something normal teens worry about, right?





	1. Start Line

Sam Witwicky was many things. Son of world-famous Cybertronian Ambassador, Spike Witwicky. 16 year old sprinter on the Desert Flower varsity Track team. Exceptionally observant, usually about the wrong things. Gregarious and outgoing, but close to few people. Overly protective of insects, especially bees. Shorter than most people his age, with none of the implications that he might be hiding a growth spurt somewhere in his bones. A mother's boy, a good boy, never out of line.

Very, very bored in his Modern History class. 

To his credit, most of his peers were bored at the moment. Last class of the day, too hot in the muggy, windowless classroom, with a teacher who had lived through all of the subjects Modern History covered, and yet could make none of it interesting. A tragedy, considering that this whole month was dedicated to the most interesting thing in history, at least the past 50 years of it: the Cybertronian War.

Sam had signed up for this elective purely because of the coverage of the Cybertronian War. His dad was a wealth of information about the war, little anecdotes about the troubles he and his friends, the Autobots, got up to. But Sam was interested in more than anecdotes, though. He wanted to know about the long lasting cultural repercussions, the way America and the rest of the world changed and grew with the alien war that touched the planet before just as suddenly vanishing. And that's what Sam wanted to learn the most, what his dad couldn't - or wouldn't - tell him.

Where had the Autobots and Decepticons gone to?

The answers were nowhere to be found in the teacher's droning. She had decided to ignore Sam entirely, after he refused to ask his dad to come in and lecture the class. (Not that Spike would have agreed; he didn't give talks about his time with the Autobots, and Sam wasn't about to press him) because of that, there was no chance of asking her if she knew the answer. And the textbook was equally useless, implying that the Cybertronians had just left back to Cybertron. But that answer just felt wrong, and Sam couldn't put his finger on why.

And this period was wrapping up with still no answer, which got Sam shuffling alongside the rest of the class to get his papers and books put away. It distracted him enough that he didn't notice the teacher coming around and passing back a test from last week, until his own handwriting was staring him in the face with a red "67%" scrawled in the corner.

Sam's head snapped up, staring at the bland face of the teacher, Mrs. Bodette. Something like the ghost of amusement flickered in her eyes.

"Next time you study for a test, Mr. Witwicky, I would suggest you stick to material actually in the course," Mrs. Bodette drawled. "Things like calling Optimus Prime the 'team mom' may fly in your father's house, but they do not fly in my classroom."

Sam gawped at his teacher as she turned and resumed doling out grades papers. A 67? He flipped through the test packet, furious. All his answers were right, he knew they were, but she'd still marked him down for "irreverent language" and "incorrect assessments" of the character of the listed Cybertronians.

He was still fuming over his grade when, ten minutes later, he walked into the gym and stumbled straight into the back of his coach, Alliah Macharia.

"Ack, hey, watch it- oh, hey, scout," Alliah said as she turned to face Sam. "What's got you looking down?"

Sam blinked up at her, a smile playing on his lips despite his foul temper. Alliah always made him feel better, no matter what his mood. 

“Ugh, grades,” Sam said, huffing. He'd left his test in his locker after getting changed for practice, otherwise he would have brandished it in Alliah's face for punctuation. 

Alliah frowned slightly, her sculpted eyebrows angling down as she studied Sam. “Should I be worried? That sounds like something I should be worried about. Your grades won't affect your spot on the team, will they?”

“Hopefully not?” Sam's statement curved up at the end, unsure. “Look, it's just the test I took last Friday for Mrs. Bodette. She marked me down for, like, being disrespectful of Optimus Prime and stuff, but-”

“Disrespectful how? With your dad, I can't imagine you being disrespectful of any of the Autobots. Maybe the Decepticons, but not the Autobots.” 

Sam ducked his head and wrung his hands. “Called Optimus Prime the 'enormous, powerful, super-cool team mom of the Autobots, and sometimes the Decepticons too.' It was, apparently, 'irreverent.'” 

He'd expected some kind of admonishment from Alliah, who was admittedly a huge fangirl for the Autobots. She wore a knock-off Autobot pendant from Hot Topic, the kind kids wore when they were young enough to be obsessed with the planet's alien visitors, before they became horrified as they learned about the death their war brought. She never grew out of her Cybertronian-obsessed phase, something Sam could sympathize with. Their war brought death, but also the knowledge that humans weren't alone, and that was a bigger comfort than anything.

Alliah's undignified snort snapped Sam back to reality. 

“That's not 'irreverent.' That's an accurate summary of m- my favorite robot, Optimus Prime. Definitely team mom. I mean, all the footage of Optimus definitely makes her seem that way. How's that irreverent?”

“Using the 'wrong pronouns' for a vanished alien pope, I guess,” Sam looked back at Alliah, a little more comfortable. Alliah doubled over with laughter.

“Pope!!! Ohmygawwwwd Optimus really is, huh?? Pope!”

Sam chuckled, folding his arms behind his head and leaning back to watch his coach, who was struggling to regain her composure. Alliah was funny like that; she'd be cool, responsible, collected, poised and intimidating, towering over him at six-foot-three and booming across fields to get the attention of the dozen motley teenagers under her command. Then she'd be just normal, laughing breezily and cracking jokes with Sam and bringing homemade brownies for the Track team to munch on after practice. 

Alliah straightened, a deep flush over her dark cheeks and the remnants of tears in her brilliant eyes. She flicked her long braids out of her face and shook her head with a beaming smile.  
“Don't worry about your grades for that, scout. I'll talk to admin' about it if they bring it up. Just try to stick to the books for tests, okay? Not everyone has a dad that's an Autobot encyclopedia.”

“I know, I know,” Sam sighed. “I was just... It doesn't feel right to talk about the Autobots like the way Mrs. Bodette wants me to. Maybe it's because I grew up on stories about them, but they feel more like... family, I guess?”

Something in Alliah's face softened and her smile grew fond. “I get it, little buddy. Come on, we gotta grab the rest of the team and start on laps. Leg day waits for no Autobot!” 

___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

It was later, after practice, that Sam got another chance to talk to Alliah one-on-one. Not for any particular reason, but waiting for his mom to pick him up from practice was boring, and Alliah was not, so it was kind of the logical thing to do. Now he did have his test back, so he was reading his answers out loud, earning him peals of laughter from his coach.

“And of course, I got marked down for my answer about the personality of Ratchet. Apparently 'grandpa' is not an analysis.”

“Oooh, he is such a gramps though! Even though he was a party ambulance back in the day.”

Sam cocked his head to one side. “Huh?”

Alliah's brilliant blue eyes went wide and she bit her lip. “Uh, he just seems like my dad, who was a party-hard kind of guy back in his day, that's all.”

Sam frowned. “No, seriously, you don't gotta lie to me, Alliah...”

Alliah frowned back, mirroring Sam's expression. “How do you know I'm lying, scout?”

“Your eyes,” Sam said, pointing at his own. “They go a deeper blue when you lie, like when Romero broke his ankle and you said it was gonna be fine. And they did that just now.”

“My eyes.... They look blue to you?”

Sam was even more confused now. “Yeah? What other color would they be?” 

Alliah held her breath, looked over Sam's head, and relaxed. 

“Your ride's here, kiddo. Scoot, ok? We'll talk tomorrow.”

Sam let himself be pushed in the direction of his mom's van, lost in thought as he held his backpack to his chest. He climbed in the passenger seat of the van and was silent, watching Alliah walk across the parking lot to her own vehicle. 

“Sammy? What's the matter?” Asked Jemma Witwicky, worry in her voice. 

Sam kept his eyes on the form of Alliah climbing in the big-rig cab she drove everywhere, until his mom began driving and his line of sight was broken. 

“Sam?”

“Huh? Oh, nothing mom, I was just.... You know Alliah, right?”

“Your coach, right? She's very nice, I like her quite a bit. Is something wrong?”

Sam pondered a minute before slowly saying, “No, I just got into it with Jake today, we couldn't agree on what color her eyes are.”

“They're black, right?”

Sam turned to look at his mom, but there was nothing more than honesty on Jemma's face. 

“...yeah, that's what I said, haha....” 

___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

In the darkness behind the school, sitting in her big-rig, Alliah let her head fall on the steering wheel before her. 

“Fuck. I knew it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Credit for "Optimus Prime is alien robot pope" goes to my fiance, CatacombChevaux, who is both more catholic and more witty than I could ever hope to be.


	2. Digging Deep

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Suspicions abound.

Sam was still puzzling over Alliah's eyes and her sudden cageyness when he finished up with his homework and settled in front of his computer to take some time to himself before bed. On a whim, he found himself on an old forum he frequented when he was about 12, an old bbcode site that collectively collected and analyzed information about Cybertronians. It was a wealth of old home videos and grainy photos of battles, stories about meeting thus Autobot or that Decepticon, brushes with the fantastic otherworldly visitors of the 80s.

The forum hadn't been actively used in a year or two, though the site's statcounter showed a few lurkers combing through the old files. Sam put on his headset, queued his music player on a favorite playlist, and began digging through himself.

He could easily lose hours to the familiar tales and pictures on the site. But tonight, he was in the mood for looking at something that he didn't usually- some alt-modes. Usually alt-modes were of little interest to Sam; disguises that were a necessity, but of a mundane form. His eyes often glazed over when he saw old footage of the sleek cars and trucks the Autobots often were, as though his mind were respecting their disguises. And he didn't usually have interest in cars to begin with.

His cursor hovered over a link into the alt-mode subforum. He hadn't looked over it in so long, at least three years. But something was niggling the back of his head, and he had to be sure.

He clicked the link and navigated into the "Optimus Prime" thread, stickied at the top of the forum.

With his mind staunchly focused on studying the images, Sam began scrolling through the hundreds of photos. Many of them were scans of old newspaper and magazine articles, grainy and overexposed, but they were all of the same big-rig cab; something like a Peterbilt sleeper cab in bright red and blue. (Sam Googled a Peterbilt to be sure, surprised he remembered the make correctly) He felt his mind buzzing in protest, trying to stop focusing on the images so intently, but he was on a mission.

Finally he reached a post that had a high quality scan of a family photo, a young girl waving to a camera from where she was perched on Optimus' hood, a smile plastered on her face. But the girl was of little interest to Sam. He found himself studying the lines of Optimus' cab- they were familiar, he saw them every day, but not in photographs or in his textbook.

That looked just like Alliah's truck.

Now, Sam thought, Alliah was a super-fan of Autobots. If she had gone out and bought a Peterbilt of the same model as Optimus Prime's alt-mode, and had it repainted to look like the vanished Autobot leader, well, she wouldn't be the first enthusiast to do so. At least one of the seniors at Desert Flower High had an Autobot-inspired car, based on Jazz's classic Porsche alt-mode, but he was rich and spoiled. Alliah was a teacher. Where would she have gotten the money for a faithful reproduction of Optimus Prime's alt-mode? What if- What if it wasn't a reproduction?

Between his musing and his music, Sam didn't hear his father come into his room, and when Spike put his hand on Sam's shoulder, the teen yelped and jumped up, yanking his headphones out of the socket of his laptop and sending Spike stumbling.

"Woah, sport, lay on the brakes," Spike joked, looking Sam up and down. "What's got you wound up?"

Sam tugged off his headphones and smiled brightly. "Nothin', dad. Just lost in thought, is all."

Spike looked over at Sam's laptop screen and hummed. "Optimus Prime, huh? Homework for your Modern History class?"

"Nah," Sam said. "I was just digging through an old forum. Did you know my Track coach has a truck that looks just like Optimus?"

"Does she now? That must have been expensive. Peterbilts guzzle that diesel, you know. And I can't imagine Energon is easy to come by!"

Sam stifled a chuckle at his dad's joke. He was not going to reward Spike with the satisfaction.

"I was just curious, because its hard for me to remember stuff about cars and trucks, so I looked up some good pics of the alt-mode. But yeah, it looks just the same."

Spike folded his arms over his chest. His expression was inscrutable. "Huh. That's pretty interesting."

Sam didn't catch the oddness in Spike's tone, too lost in thought himself. But Spike shook his head as if to clear it, and pulled Sam into a warm hug.

"Get to bed, Sam. It's late, and you have school tomorrow."

"Yeah, dad. Love you," Sam replied, punctuating it with a squeeze.

"Love you too, Sammy." 

_____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Alliah was silent for her entire drive home. The only sounds in the cab of her big-rig were the dull rumble of the engine, the hypnotic lull of the tires under the wheels. Her eyes were fixed on the road, but something lingered behind them, stormy and intense. 

Her commute wasn't long; she lived just in the next town over and the roads were clear this time of night. As she carefully pulled into her driveway, the headlights of her truck glinted off the other cars pulled into the large drive; an old Ford Crown Victoria in classic black and white, and a silver Datsun Fairlady parked right in front of it. A smile played at Alliah's lips. Though she only lived with the owner of one of the cars, the other was at her house almost all the time anyways, and they were always a laugh when together.

Parking was simple, and Alliah jumped out of her cab with a soft “oof,” lugging a couple bags behind her. She ducked between the two cars and up the front steps of the modest two-bedroom house, not bothering to check if the door was unlocked before throwing it open.

Her housemate never locked the door. All the easier for Alliah to get in, with arms full of papers to grade. Those papers were set on a desk by the door, with the bags she was lugging falling haphazardly to the floor beside it. Alliah could hear muffled conversation from another room. Well, half a conversation. A certain someone was dominating it. 

“I'm home! Edgar, Jamie, where you at?”

“Kitchen!” Was the response, before the voice hushed to normal tones again and resumed its chattering.

Rolling her eyes, Alliah cracked her knuckles and walked through to the kitchen, where sure enough, Edgar Sumdac and Jamison Sorrows sat on either side of the counter, Jamie fervently telling a bored-looking Edgar about his day. 

“-Told him he'd have to park his car somewhere else, because who just does that, parking in a fire lane, right? Hi Alliah! So he started to get snippy with me because and I quote You Are A Glorified Mall Cop And Have No Authority Here so I- What's up, Alliah? You look down in the dumps and we can't have that from our fearless leader.”

Alliah huffed in amusement, waving off Jamie's concern with a hand. “I'm not 'down in the dumps,' Jamie. Just concerned.”

Edgar turned to Alliah, his crisp white shirt creasing over his chest as he looked over the back of his chair. A frown was on his face, but that was not unusual. Edgar frowned at least ninety percent of the time; him smiling was something to be worried about. 

“You're only ever concerned about three things, Alliah,” Edgar said, his light blue eyes shadowed by his furrowed brows. “And all of them are serious.”

Jamie cut in, leaning over the counter and looking like a puddle in his oversized grey hoodie. “Nah, she's concerned about Most Things, that's what makes her such a good coach and teacher and leader and sprinter, she's running away from her concerns and she's got so many of them she just ZOOM! There she goes.”

Alliah chuckled softly. “Yes, that is definitely how that works,” she said, coming around the counter to sit next to Jamie. She put a hand on his back and tapped between his shoulderblades, thinking for a moment. But just a moment.

“Remember how I mentioned I thought I found another one?”

Edgar stiffened, and Jamie sat up and looked at Alliah with a wide smile on his tan face. 

“Yeah.”

“Oh! Oh! Who is it? Who is it?” Jamie was practically bouncing in his seat, giddy.

Edgar pinched the bridge of his nose. “Don't tell me. It's one of your students?”

Alliah smirked and patted Edgar's free hand. “Even better. It's Spike's son.”

Edgar's eyes widened and he looked over at Jamie, who was vibrating and raising his shoulders in excitement. 

“No- but isn't Spike the one that took-”

“I think so, yeah.”

“Ah!” Jamie burst out, too excited to contain himself. “Does he have any memories yet? Does he know who you are? Does he? Does he? Oooh do you know who he is? When can we meet him?” 

Alliah glanced over at Jamie, whose eyes were practically glowing cyan. She was reminded of the bright flicker in Sam's eyes as he made her laugh earlier. Did the teen even know?

“I don't think he's awakened yet, Jamie. But he said my eyes are blue, and-”

“And only a Changeling can see another Changeling's eye color,” Prowl finished, voice clipped. Alliah nodded. 

“I think I know which one of us he is, but I don't want to throw anything out there that's too weird. I already slipped up earlier, said something about Ratchet that sounded too personal.”

Prowl's frowned deepened. “Alliah, our cover-”

“Zip it, Prowl,” Alliah snapped. “Sam's a good kid, he's not going to raise any suspicion. I know it. Especially if he is who I think he is.”

Edgar sat back in his chair, folding his arms over his chest. He looked at the counter for a moment, then nodded. “Of course. I trust you, Alliah. I just worry.” 

Alliah looked into the distance, her gaze somewhere behind the microwave. “I do too, Edgar. I do too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alliah's truck: http://jingletruck.com/img/1985-peterbilt-359-exhd-151879291410-1.jpg  
> Edgar's car: http://www.topcarrating.com/nissan/1983-nissan-fairlady-300zx-turbo-z31-3.jpg  
> Jamie's car: https://i.kinja-img.com/gawker-media/image/upload/s--HhUTfmDW--/c_scale,f_auto,fl_progressive,q_80,w_800/18d3qlb8zud96jpg.jpg


	3. Weird

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things get kind of weird.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Decided to go with the idea that this AU is g1 inspired, but not compliant. As such, yeah, Chip Chase is Sam's friend, no connection to the Autobots or somehow-accidentally-remote-controlling-Prowl that one time.

By the time morning came, seeing Sam wake up at the crack of dawn and shuffle blearily to his bus stop, the teen had formulated a plan to confront his Track coach about either having an eerily familiar 1985 Peterbilt 359, or driving around the corpse of a giant robot. It depended on how the conversation went. There was no doubt in his mind about the nature of Alliah's big-rig, and while Sam couldn't explain his conviction if anyone had asked, he was going to get to the bottom of this mystery. 

One of the biggest questions of the century- where did the Cybertronians go?- imagine the answer being, “My coach is driving around the corpse of their leader!” It was absurd, but Sam had a gut feeling about this, and he was going to roll with it. 

Of course, being that he was excited for the end of it, the school day dragged on glacially. It felt like torture, checking the clock after an hour to find it had in reality been only a few minutes. By the end of first hour, Sam was ready to scream. 

Instead, he gathered his backpack and spent the next five minutes glaring daggers at nothing in particular as he headed to his next class. Thankfully, that next class was an easy elective, Programming 1, and that was something Sam excelled at. 

He settled into his usual seat, next to his friend, Chip Chase. Chip was actually in a much more advanced programming course, but since he was the only one in said course, his “class” had been integrated in with Sam's. It was a boon for both of them; not only could Sam and Chip spend the whole period talking freely as they worked on their projects, but Chip could check over Sam's coding and make sure it was free of amateur mistakes. It usually was, but Sam appreciated Chip's help.

“What's bugging you, Sammy-boy?” Chip chirped, drumming on the armrests of his wheelchair.

(That was something Sam appreciated about Chip- the dude was always stimming in some way, which made Sam feel less self-conscious about doing it himself. Power in numbers!)

“Hey, actually, maybe you can help me out, Chip,” Sam said. “You have Alliah- uh, Ms. Macharia, for your AP Social Studies class, right?”

“Yeah, she's great,” Chip said, grinning. He had a bit of a crush on Alliah, but then, most people attracted to women in the school did. She had that effect on people. 

“Well, you know what color her eyes are, right?”

Chip looked at Sam quizzically. “Uh, they're like, espresso or something? Really super dark, but super intense, too. Like she can see your soul or some shit. Why?”

Sam rubbed his eyes and turned to face his computer monitor, logging in to the school system to buy a minute of time. 

“Don't tell anyone, but-”

“Do you have a crush on her? Because if so, nice choice of first lady to crush on,” Chip joked. Sam pulled a face.

“What? Ew, no, first of all, still gay, second, she's like a mom to me? Be serious, Chip.”

Chip frowned and shifted in his chair. “Ok. Serious pants on now. What up?”

Sam took a deep breath. “It's gonna sound crazy, but.... Alliah's eyes are blue to me.”

Chip just tipped his head to one side. “Uh, the fuck what? You mean, like, the whites of her eyes, right?”

“No, her actual irises. I've always thought everyone else saw it too. I mean, everyone's always saying her eyes are intense, I thought that's what y'all meant.” 

Chip fell silent, and Sam could feel his gaze on the side of his face. Then, after a minute-

“Holy fuck. You're not shitting around, are you.”

“Nope,” Sam said, popping the “p.” 

Chip turned back to his computer and navigated to their school's homepage, then clicked through several directories and turned his monitor towards Sam. On it was a row of pictures; the coaching staff for various sports the school participated in. Of course, one of the pictures was of Alliah Macharia, and in it...

“Yeah, I know, I thought it was like, a trick of the light or something up with how cameras capture the color of her eyes or something! Black eyes in pictures, but seriously, you've got to believe me, they're like cobalt blue when I see them face-to-face. I'm not making this up,” Sam said, studying Chip's face. 

“No,” Chip said after a minute. “You're not. And I don't think you're crazy, either, ok? But whatever's up, it's got to be something super weird. Have you asked her?”

Sam sagged in relief, smiling crookedly. “She was surprised when I said her eyes were blue, last night. And she was being really weird. I'm going to ask her about it today after practice,” he said, adding under his breath, “Among other things.” 

Chip didn't catch the addendum, though, and the teacher finally caught on to their chattering from the front of the room, barking at them to go back to their assignments. Sam's was actually interesting- coding a simple webpage with flash inclusion- so he quickly got absorbed into his work, and the next forty minutes passed quickly. 

Calculus was next, something Sam also excelled in, finding the equations and numbers easy. Next was a Language Arts course, with a substitute and movie packet to complete, and it was lunch period as well, so it wasn't as torturous as the first hour of the day had been. Then Science, and unfortunately, the bane of Sam's existence, Mrs. Bodette's Modern History class. 

Sam wasn't interested in today's lesson based on what the board said it was. Decepticon introduction? _Yawn, more like Deceptiscum indoctrination,_ Sam thought.

Mrs. Bodette didn't just drone today, she dragged her lecture in the most boring direction possible. Sam found himself almost falling asleep when another student's voice cut in. 

“Mrs. Bodette, you say that Megatron was incompetent, but he regularly kept the Autobots on their toes, including incidents where the Autobots were duped into attacking humans or even each other,” the student said, her voice cutting through the fog of Sam's mind. That couldn't be true, but...

But....

Sam's heart was suddenly beating entirely too quickly, and he ducked his head against his desk, eyes screwed shut. He vaguely heard his teacher start to answer, but it was muffled by the pounding in his ears. He fought down a wave of nausea that felt more like apprehension than anything, and flexed his hands against his chest. They felt too small. Everything felt _too small,_ and he couldn't hear anything but the ghost of a memory in the back of his head.

_“-cons sabotaged all our recharge slabs, the Autobots are all under Megatron's influence!”_

The voice was heavily synthesized, urgent but emotionless. Another voice echoed through the heavy static in Sam's mind. 

_“-still got Prime! We have to stop him!”_

And then his own voice, in the memory, not his at all but sounding right at home in his mind, _“I'll do it!”_

A sharp, clear memory, _standing on a tarmac with Optimus Prime before him, his optics blazing an angry red, Sam came up to his knee if that but he charged the Autobot leader anyways, and then sharp pain as Optimus grabbed him, threw him, skidding across the cement before getting up and charging again, throwing arms around Optimus' leg and crying out “This isn't you, Prime!”_

_Red fading to blue. Shock in Optimus' optics. “Bumblebee? What- What have I done?”_

The nausea faded with the memory- daydream?- and Sam was suddenly back in his own body, no longer feeling trapped and too small. The clouds were still in his mind, but he could hear more than his slowing heartbeat, and he sat up to the sight of Mrs. Bodette glaring at him.

“Something the matter, Mr. Witwicky?”

Sam squirmed as too many eyes settled on him. “Uh. Y-yeah, actually, I feel really sick suddenly. Can I go to the bathroom?” 

There was a ripple around the class as students tittered softly at the question, and Mrs. Bodette looked down her nose at Sam. He must have looked shaken, though, because her expression softened incrementally. She sighed and nodded.

“Take the hall pass.”

Sam nodded meekly and retrieved the modified yardstick from by the door and, as soon as the door closed behind him, bolted to the nearest bathroom. It was empty, only about half through the final period of the day, and he took advantage of that to splash water over his face. He remained bent over the sink for a few minutes before looking into the mirror and studying himself. His eyes- his mom always called them steel-gray, but they usually looked pale blue to him- were a saturated, almost electric blue. He looked as unsettled as he felt. 

“What the fuck was that?” He whispered to himself. 

It had felt so real. But there was no way it could be. He'd had dreams about Cybertronians before, but nothing as real as whatever had just happened. Whatever that was. 

Sam had a knot of suspicion in his stomach, one that whispered that this had something to do with Alliah, and her eyes, and her truck. It wasn't her fault, but she'd know what was going on. Alliah always had answers, even if she didn't share them.

And Sam really needed answers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Obviously referencing the general plot of "Attack of the Autobots," though I imagine it didn't actually happen with Megatron and Starscream "inverting the personality chips" of the Autobots. There's probably an actual explanation that makes sense, but uh, I don't have it right now.


	4. Skinned Knees

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no clue how sports work, I'm a nerd first and foremost.

Sam reluctantly returned to class after taking a few more minutes to collect himself in the bathroom. Silently, he returned the Yardstick of Hallpass (as a Junior had deemed it earlier in the year) and sat back at his desk. The rest of the hour was spent forcibly detaching himself from the discussion in the room, ignoring the waves of nausea that came when he looked at the homework for the night (“list notable Autobot defeats at the hands of the Decepticons”) and finally, as the bell signaled the end of the school day, darting out of the room as fast as he was allowed. 

Alliah was, unfortunately, busy with another member of the Track team when Sam emerged onto the athletic field. He had gotten stuck in his shirt when changing into his workout gear, somehow, and lost a few precious minutes untangling himself and the shirt. In the end, he mused, he probably shouldn't be talking about something so important- and possibly secret- before practice. He caught Alliah's eye, waved a hello, and then headed over to a patch of grass to stretch.

Practice was a welcome respite for Sam. He was short and awkward, but stretching his legs, running, feeling his muscles burn, always felt good. He mainly was a sprinter, like Alliah, but he was also pretty good at endurance runs, too. His mile was just under five minutes, when he pushed himself, and the throat-raw agony he felt at the end of it was exhilarating. Meets were nerve-wracking, but practices were the best. 

Under the hot, baking Nevada sun, Sam could run, feel the air turn cool from the speed he traveled, and not think about anything. 

But today, something about his sprint drills felt... off. More than once he misstepped and fell to one side or the other, rolling to a ragged stop on the track. After the third time tripping over his own feet, which felt both too big and too small all at once, Alliah took notice and came over to where Sam was sprawled on the red asphalt. 

She crouched beside him, her dark skin a blue-black in her shadow. Sam squinted up at her.

“What's got you eating turf, scout?”

Sam grimaced. “A lot on my mind, I guess. Weird day.” He pushed himself to sitting up and winced when he looked at his skinned knees. They were rubbed raw and bloody; for some reason, the red leaking out of them looked foreign. 

“Wanna talk about it?” Alliah asked, pulling Sam back.

“...yeah, actually. After practice?” 

Alliah nodded. “Of course, scout. Need help up?”

“I'd appreciate it!”

Alliah stood and offered Sam her hand, which he gratefully used to haul himself up. He dusted himself off and half-jogged back to the grassy football field their track surrounded, and went back to stretching. Maybe he was tripping because he just wasn't limber enough? 

Practice continued more smoothly after that. Sam even managed an impressive time on his final 200-meter sprint of the day, his shadow stretching long under the sinking desert sun. It caught his eye as he headed back into the locker rooms to get changed back into regular clothes. It felt like his shadow stretched a good twenty feet, and something in Sam's chest burned happily at the sight. 

Sam didn't bother showering in the locker room, choosing to just throw his school-day hoodie back on. He tugged it straight in the mirror, smiling at the photorealistic bee on his chest. Then, scooping up his backpack, he headed back outside to talk to Alliah. 

Coming out the door with his hand shielding his eyes from the sun, low in the sky, Sam almost missed where Alliah was standing at the edge of the field. She was staring across the field, looking at something only she could see, probably lost in thought. There was something familiar about her pose; Tall and authoritative, pensive and just a little tired. Her hands were on her slight hips, fingers drumming to a beat only she could hear. 

Sam silently came up beside her, looking in the same general direction. Off to the left a bit was the teacher parking lot, and Alliah's big rig was just visible from where they stood. Sam's eyes slid off of it, just as they always did, reminding him of the questions burning in his head. 

Alliah spoke first, though.

“It's not like you to trip up like that, little buddy,” she said, her voice quiet but concerned. 

“I've... had a really weird day,” Sam said. 

“Tell me about it?”

Sam fidgeted. “I got real sick in Mrs. Bodette's class for some reason. It was really weird and I don't think I can describe it.”

Alliah sat, her long legs folding under her as she settled on the grass. Sam followed suit. Her brilliant blue eyes were focused on him, now, and he tried not to feel like he was in trouble.

“Why don't you try?”

“It's like-” Sam broke off, took a deep breath, and started again. “It's like I was having deja vu or something. We were talking about Decepticons and one of my classmates said something about the 'cons tricking the 'bots into fighting each other, and everything went fuzzy, and my head was pounding, and I felt like I was going to throw up.” 

Alliah hummed distantly, and nodded. She made no move to say anything though, so Sam continued. 

“I got this like, really intense.... daydream, I guess, about Optimus Prime attacking us. Well, he was attacking some jets, and then I tried to stop him, and he threw me, and I almost felt it. I did feel it. It was so intense...”

Sam trailed off there, looking back at Alliah's face, studying her cobalt eyes. Something hid in their depths. 

“Has that- has that happened to you before?” Sam asked, hesitantly. 

Alliah rolled the question around in her mouth, tasting it, before offering an equally slow answer. “It has,” she said, looking down at her hands, studying her red-and-blue nails. “Often. It freaks me out a lot. But it's nothing to be afraid of.”

Sam shifted. Dots connected in his head, but he couldn't vocalize his suspicion. It was too absurd. Instead, he asked another question. 

“Why does everyone say your eyes are black? Why did you act so weird yesterday when I said your eyes are blue?”

That was Alliah's cue to fidget, and she looked off to the side. “Prolly the same reason people say your eyes aren't super blue, scout. What color do they call yours?”

“....gray, usually. Alliah, what does it mean?”

“It means you and me, buddy? We're more like each other than I can really say.”

“Why not?” 

Alliah hummed. “I don't want to alter or influence you, ok? This is something you have to figure out for yourself. But when you figure it out, I'll be here for you, and waiting, ok?”

Sam fell silent, and his phone chirped with a text from his mom. He pulled it out and checked the message, a simple text saying she would be there in a few minutes to pick him up. He was running short on time. 

“One more thing, Alliah...”

“Yeah, scout?

“Does this have something to do with how you're driving around Optimus Prime's body?”

Alliah spluttered and looked at Sam like he'd grown a second head. “Where'd you get that idea from?”

Sam waved his hand in the direction of her big rig. “You're a teacher, there's no way you could afford a replica Peterbilt that looks just like him! And it does look just like him. I won't tell anyone, seriously, I'm just wondering how.”

Slowly, Alliah stood up and stretched. Then, she looked down at Sam, who felt very, very small next to his coach. 

“You're not totally wrong? Like, you're not. You're pretty close on the money, scout. But the answer is complicated. For that, I'd recommend one thing,” Alliah said.

“What's that?”

“I'd look in your dad's workshop and check out what he has in there,” Alliah replied. “You'll get a lot of your answers from that.”

With that, Alliah gathered her things and sprinted towards her truck. Behind him, Sam heard the honk of his mother's minivan, and quietly turned and walked over to get inside. 

“What has Alliah in such a hurry?” Jemma asked, her eyes on the parking lot before her. 

“Probably has papers to grade or something,” Sam replied, his mind a thousand miles away. His dad's workshop... _Hm._


End file.
